


at what cost;

by bloodynargles



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: :c, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, HhhHhhHhHhH, IM IN PAIN, Kid Fic, LMAO, Patch 3.0: Heavensward Spoilers, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Unplanned Pregnancy, i did it i finished it, just all the spoilers i guess, more characters to be added as they appear i guess, one GIANT spoiler and several tiny ones, yeet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodynargles/pseuds/bloodynargles
Summary: Save them all again, Warrior of Light. Maybe you will survive.. but at what cost to an already shattered heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i am a broken woman right now

Hands. They're truly remarkable things, no? Always there to offer comfort, or to ready in battle, the man behind them full of vigor. Full of life. They were bigger than hers, took both of her own to hold onto one of his, the one he had held out to her. She almost missed the naive child that had first craned her neck up towards him, the one who didn't know what would come. What she would _lose_. How if she could will herself back there, take what they would grow to have in _both_ of her hands. She would do it differently. He would never have to have met the fate that he did. She would never have to look into his dying eyes and smile because he so willed it, because he _needed_ it. Because she would have done anything for him.

He would want her to keep fighting. For his home, for his family, in the face of irrefutable truth he stood firm and she should do the same. But all she wishes to do is _run_.

 

How many people must die, how many _friends_ must give their own lives for _her,_ for their cause. Minfilia often said it was her that gave her strength, as did many others – but what if she now _lacks_ that strength? What if the man whom she took it from is gone, and what if she knows not what to do? Of course, there is only one path before her, to chase his murderers into god knows where and end this. What ever _this_ may be. Her heart, what remains of it, screams for release, to run, to be _free_ of this pain, of all of this suffering. Her mind is as ever, hard set on the faint traces of anger that linger within her, always searching for the key to solve their current problem. Perhaps it is well that her heart does not command her feet, then.

Save them all again, Warrior of Light. Maybe you will survive.. but at what _cost_ to an already shattered heart.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though her path will be walked with family, new and old, her heart shall forever stay lone,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheres my au where he just pulls her out of the way of it
> 
> Wher the fck is it

The soft sounds of water soothe her, as does the small spots of snow that fall upon the black feathers of a chocobo gifted. Sometimes she wonders the intent behind it, he did, after all, train it from birth, and though at the time perhaps she had only just began to grasp the feelings that which she felt so strong now, that she had before.. Maybe he had felt for her then, but still yet offered it out of friendship, perhaps he thought such things could never happen twice. What ifs and perhaps are all she has now. But she has a bird, no? One he had given to her with such radiant _confidence_ that she would soar high above Coerthas and beyond upon it. Oft she wonders how Lacuna would take to a new friend, and then she remembers that perhaps keeping those two in the same stables would result in something akin to what she had with Haurchefant.

 

It is a foul feeling. To know that something you love dearly will never come back, never smile in your direction again or try with all of his might to bolster your mood. It is one that escapes her when she falls asleep, one that chokes her when she wakes, hand reaching for the other side of the bed, even though she is aware that not again will anyone ever be there. Perhaps that is the fate that she has chosen for herself, the fate of a lonely hero. But yet, _his_ hero. And she must smile, because all good heroes _should_.

Somewhere, he wants her to. To go on without him, and though her path will be walked with family, new and old, her heart shall forever stay lone, partial and within her chest. Until perhaps, once more they encounter one another again. Then – then mayhap the gods will allow him to _stay_.


	3. Chapter 3

It settles her, head leaned against the inscription in stone, eyes lazily watching over the silhouette of Ishgard in the distance. Her hands are curled up within her coat, a finger drawing circles on her stomach, the little present he had left her was becoming quite noticeable, now. She can feel eyes on her back and she knows that she'd been followed here, knew it could only be one of three people, all protective in their own way. The timid footsteps that come from behind her helps her narrow it down, the youngest brother _should_ be in the middle of a lesson by now, so it could not have been him. As they inch ever closer she can tell that it could not be Alphinaud, either, as by now he would have spoken. Artoirel, then. With any of the other two she would have had to speak up, but as he realises that she has noticed him, a soft sigh leaves his chest, footsteps slowing to a halt as he kneels down, a knee pressing into the snow in front of his brother's grave. She can see him out of the corner of her eye, now. His voice is almost above a whisper, even though the words he utters are quite mundane, timidly asking how on earth she had gotten this far out this quickly in her state. A soft laugh bubbles up from her chest, a simple reply hushed in between her laughter. The dark haired one raises an eyebrow in response, a gentle smile reaching his somewhat cold exterior. Silence envelops them both for a little while, until she can feel the breeze from the inside of her coat. He pulls himself up, reaching for her as she tries not to lean on the gravestone for support, his hands stay on her arms until she is sure that she has steadied herself, a silent goodbye lingering in the air before Artoirel guides her back to Ishgard.

He cares, in his own way. They all do – and she is eternally grateful for all they have done for her, and the scions, even if there is only four of them around. She knows that in a number of months there will be something new and small to divide their attention, something she hopes _does not_ have horns. Perhaps that may be wishful thinking, though. Even after the child arrives, there could be something much, much bigger that will require her, and _gods_ does she dread the day that that time comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tiny bb. :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Haurchefant died, the places around her went dim. Camp Dragonhead felt lifeless, grasping for her throat and choking her.

She's so _small_. Her eyes cast down breathlessly at the tiny wonder against her chest, the world feeling so very bright at that moment, and though there were people around her none of them mattered. They could wait until later, it could _all_ wait until later.

 

After Haurchefant died, the places around her went dim. Camp Dragonhead felt lifeless, grasping for her throat and choking her. Ishgard was empty, and though since she has gained a man who would _gladly_ claim to be her father if he could, brothers too, nothing really felt the same. The city was a wondrous place, a war-torn, problematic society but it was beautiful and listening to the emotion in his voice on the way there as he explained all of the sights he could take her to see, how he could not wait until they were free to explore – she was enchanted. So many things _changed_ after she got there, worse and better and worse, and dire. It retained its light, though. The snow was always soft and the cold never bit at her bones. When she finally found her way out of the vault, the flakes that had once felt like feathers hit like stones, and the shiver that ran across her skin almost froze her solid.

It never felt the same.

 

 _Now_ , now her breath hitches for a different reason. The delicate little hairs upon her child's head, the soft rise and fall of her chest as blue eyes stare back up at her. There had been a blizzard raging the last she had heard, but she could _swear_ that she could feel the warmth of the sun radiating through the window. The smile that spreads across her face turns into a soft laugh, which in turn gives way to tears – but she was not _sad_ , no. No, somewhere, somehow, she _knew_ Haurchefant could see his daughter, and perhaps the sun she felt glaring against her skin was not breaking through the clouds, perhaps.. Perhaps he had been here all along.

She presses her lips softly against the baby's forehead, finger caught in a tight hold as she notes that _this_ is the first thing that this child had ever seen.  _She_ is. This _mess_ of an Au Ra was her mother. There is comfort in the fact that this tiny Elezen, she looked _just like her father_.

She was _perfect_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not crying you're crying
> 
>  
> 
> actually im 100% crying


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes all of her primal-fighting strength not to fall apart at the sight of her daughter speaking broken, breathless words to the gravestone of her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic got names in it. just fyi. also switches pov? i guess? i dont know if i do like, proper point of views but yeah. have fun im dyign

It never really gets any easier, the hike up to his graveside. Past ruins of buildings the knights had failed to hold, the bitter freeze of the air further up the hill nipping at her nose, hands shoved over ears in protest of the cold. The walk was never a breeze, either. Always watching their steps, careful not to step on snow that had been frozen solid, or worse, partially melted in whatever sunshine they get here. Keep to the dirt path, she'd say, but curious eyes will always find something else to capture their attention.

Silver hair peeks out from underneath her little hat, her mother's attempts to tidy it only increase her pulling away. Blue eyes had turned magenta in the summers after her birth, much to some people’s disappointment, but a welcome change for her grandfather, who was all too _glad_ to see that his son's child was not just a reflection of himself. To see that Arcadia had something to claim other than the blood that runs through her.

Bundled up to stop the cold from seeping through does much to stop the sniffles that sometimes take the child, though it does little to stop the cold when _said_ child adores to play in the snow. When they finally reach the top of the hill, though, it seems the small one's giggles subside. Tiny hands encapsulated in her mother's, older eyes cast down towards her with a worried look as they slowly approach their destination. Feet slowing to a stop, Arcadia kneels down softly, if only to get a better look at her child from _her_ height.

 

“ _Papa._ ”

 

Small gloved hands reach out to touch the cold stone underneath which he lays, tears gathering in her eyes as someone she had only ever heard stories about, had only ever been _told_ he was sleeping – he was _really_ gone. It was something too significant for a small mind to comprehend, her mother _knew_ that, but she also knew the only way to truly settle the fire that could rage within her child was to bring her _here_. To see him. To talk to him. To know that he could hear her no matter what, and if she ever, _ever_ needed him to listen, that she could always come here.

There is not much she can offer but soothing words and promises, and naught much she can give but a warm hug when it is needed. It takes all of her primal-fighting strength not to fall apart at the sight of her daughter speaking broken, breathless words to the gravestone of her father. It takes _everything_ she has to stay silent and not interfere, but to love and adore silently until the small one would need it to be said aloud.

 

 

They venture down to Camp Dragonhead after, Emmanellain all too happy to see his favorite niece, as he calls her. Though any replies that she is his _only_ niece fall upon deaf ears and shushes. Hot cocoa is placed into small, wanting hands and she seems to pull the heat from it as she sips upon the warm liquid within. The adults talk – even though mama would scarce call her uncle an _adult_ in open conversation – and their voices are drowned out by the thoughts that run wild in her head. Of papa, of the stories that grandfather had told her, where papa was the shining knight who led the assault and helped mama win the day. Of all the times his warm smile had wavered when he looked at her, all too aware of the resemblances to her father. It did not make her want to be a knight, or a warrior at all, really. Mama always seemed almost _sad_ at the proud suggestion of others and there was little she wanted less than seeing her mother upset.

The day had been long, she knows that well enough, can tell by the way her legs protest at moving when her uncle pulls them away from the hearth to eat, can tell by the tired look her mother casts down at the food on her own plate. They'll stay here for the night, that's what mama says as she tucks her down into warm blankets, then it is back home to grandpa and uncle Artoirel, where the tall, tall buildings and the ladies with pretty dresses are. She cannot wait to see them again, but even through her excitement there's a pang of guilt. That they'll leave papa alone on top of that hill.

But she promised she'd come back! She would always come back, and bring mama too.

 

If there's anything Adelene knew from the proud knight that she sees wherever she goes, is that he _loves_ her mother. Loves her like the knights love the queens in those faerie tales that grandfather would read to her at home. That makes her feel better about leaving papa up there, because she knew that he couldn't be up _there_ and following her around at the same time, so he was never _alone_.

And she'd never be alone, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did the quest line to get the haurchefant emote and this is apparently whats been born from it. also a series of screenshots of post hw arcadia by his grave if you really wanna DIE IRL. Stormblood is breakdown 'ive lost too much' time though. cant wait for that shit, said no one, ever. ./cry


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wakes to a bright sky. To purple leaves adorning trees and the rough feeling of grass between her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bitch im back and i havent written about a dlc since before i did stormblood
> 
> *throws self out window

The light fall of snow was something she knew she was going to miss. Besides the obvious, this Warrior of Light was going to miss a lot of things as she embarked on this new... adventure. That was how she had styled it to Adelene, at least. Duty had taken her away before, yet still small, her daughter knew that well, but she was always kept coddled in the arms of her uncles and grandfather. Though there was something _different_ about this time. Perhaps it was the unknown ailment that took her friends from consciousness, or the searing pain that would seem endless when the voice had spoken. They had frightened her, yes, but nothing.. Nothing scared her more than never laying eyes on her child again. Of not coming back home, to Ishgard. To this world. Of course she knew that the odds had always seemed stacked against them, and they had always prevailed – but never without losses. Not without death. _Haurchefant_.. Ysayle, Papalymo, all of them, before and after. They gave their lives, what if.. What if now it was _her_ turn.

Arcadia knew well that she couldn't entertain the thought, but still it would creep into her mind. The sweet sound of a child sleeping would spark the thought of whether this would be one of the last times she would see her. Push her silvery hair from her eyes and delight in the bright sound of her little laugh. Twas silly to let it bother her. Quite so. Yes..

 

At least there was still Tataru. There would _always_ be Tataru. Networking in her own way and spending her down time weaving some impossible seeming garments. What ever the Scions would do without her is not a question she ever wishes to know the answer to, _though_.. Perhaps anything to keep her from producing more little dresses for Adelene. Do not get her wrong, they were all _beautiful_ , ornate, some even in Doman style after their trip there, but sometimes the lalafell did not take into account that her daughter lives in Coerthas. And it snows. A _lot._ Apart from that, her daughter seemingly endlessly grows taller by the _hour_ , such are Elezen blessed there, and those beautiful dresses go into storage because she has grown too tall to wear them. Perhaps she can slip in the request for some socks, or some kind of coat that could help shield her daughter from this impossibly cold weather, at least for a time.

 

The Crystal Tower held a lot of memories. Some she had tried to forget, letting the red hair of a friend who elected to stay behind willingly slip from her mind. They were looking for something, anything that matched the words she had last heard. Perhaps it caused a little apprehension, looking for a gift from the unknown, but she _had_ walked head on into these situations before, had she not? What on earth could be so different with this one?

Wandering off from the rest of the team, something catches her eye. Feels smooth in her hand, yet she barely hears Tataru yell before she regrets her question. Glimpses of memories fly by her, one at a time, her eyes widen as she reaches for one, but her fingers cannot quite reach. Then it is over.

 

She wakes to a bright sky. To purple leaves adorning trees and the rough feeling of grass between her fingers.

O _h_.

**Author's Note:**

> theyre might be more to this, iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii will enevitably spill more tears into a word doc soon, so.


End file.
